


Gold Rush

by vintagevinyl



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician)
Genre: Drabble, Ed Sheeran - Freeform, Gen, Gold Rush, I Don't Even Know, I am genuinely in love with Ed Sheeran, I'm not suggesting he's crazy, Inspired by Music, very vague, vocab essay, written during my free period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagevinyl/pseuds/vintagevinyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AP English vocabulary drabble based off of 'Gold Rush' by Ed Sheeran. It doesn't all make sense... at all really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold Rush

**Author's Note:**

> So in my English class we have to write AP essays, manifestos, and/or creative writings with vocabulary words, but I changed a few sticky words to be more easily read and am happy with the results.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights, lyrics or music for Gold Rush or Ed Sheeran and am in no way being paid for this... experiment.  
> Key word being experiment.

The odious smoke alarm went off at 9, blaring as he rubbed the sleep out of his Saturday morning eyes. Getting up, he shambled towards the kitchen, stalking the sound of the beeping before the batteries were flung out of their tenuous plastic cage. On the stove lay five shriveled pieces of bacon, still popping and fizzing as if they could live vicariously through the twisting, turning and living smoke they produced. If only.

On the stovetop, sharing grease with the once-bacon, was a scrawled note in looping and graceful handwriting that read “I’ll be back in five”. In his tired and vulnerable state, he returned to his bed, back to the valleys of comfort and folds of the luxury of being able to sleep in alone on a Saturday.

Waking up again at noon, he was no longer fractious and cranky, no longer drowsy and foggy, no longer unquestioning of the note in his apartment. He surmises that the note must have involved an illicit entrance of his home; he lives and has always lived alone, without a pet, roommate or family member since his 17th turn around the sun. Now frozen in place, he calls out to the empty room, hoping beyond hope there is an answer. It has been far more than five minutes. Where is his visitor? Long pause, no answer.

Years pass in fleeting, slow, and hazy moments spent with friends and graduation. His friends candor about the incident—for he now called it nothing more than the Incident—was a cornucopia of jokes and memories. In the beginning, he would wait, wait for this person (he assumed) to return to his apartment and make itself known. In the end, he always waited. His friends would sit and wait, once every three hundred and sixty five days, reminiscing. All they would say was Hold up, remember the time when we were in school, listening to grown ups? Didn’t learn a thing. But then again, you know what, you know how to wait. But you don’t know anything other than that!

Why did he sit in anticipatory silence every night? With or without his friends, he was in a constant limbo. He said he did it for the love. They said okay, we will too. He said he was waiting on the gold rush. They were confused when he explained it kept him on the edge. They wheedled him into having a roll-up. They smoked and remembered the time.

High at the moment, he confessed that he was still waiting for that moment to arrive. In a friendly act of solecism, his friends hoped he would get into some salaciously tempting pastime, sleep with someone, anyone, to throw himself wholeheartedly into something other than the Incident, because this was getting ridiculous. They told him he needed to put his job in front of this incessant waiting. He told them this was his job. They were confused, it had been almost five years since. Surrounded by smoke once again, he poignantly and politely told them to please remember how to stay high, like when they were in school, listening to grown ups. They surmised that he was done with the subject and egregiously dropped it. He didn’t know how to tell them that at that moment, he felt the arms of an apparition wrap around him once his friends accepted his waiting. The gold rush had come, the moment was here. His friends could see it and all they said was Hold up who’s that behind you? in a panic.

He leaned back into the touch, pushed his head back on a strangers shoulder as they looked on frightened and angry. All he said was Well maybe you should learn to love it, like… like the way you want to be loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Could you tell which words were assigned? In an ideal word you couldn't. Comments, kudos, criticism, and guesses are much loved!


End file.
